


Jagged

by Raptor_Redemption



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Consensual Kink, Knifeplay, M/M, Mild Blood, Sparring, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raptor_Redemption/pseuds/Raptor_Redemption
Summary: When it comes to sparring partners, Felix is picky; Sylvain is everything he could need.A quick fill for the prompt:Felix and Sylvain have an intense sparring session, and Sylvain gets a little too excited when Felix wounds him, or comes close to.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	Jagged

**Author's Note:**

> **Take Note!** Felix is ftm transgender, and dfab/afab terminology is used for his genitals.
> 
> Un-beta'd/unedited

Felix never goes easy on anyone—all the students should know by now what they’re getting into when they offer to train with him. The most that he’ll ever consider conceding for someone else’s benefit is to choose a “relaxed” fight. In Felix’s mind, the descriptor doesn’t mean much beyond _I suppose I won’t try to kill them._

The knights and professors have been forced to intervene in Felix’s matches more than once.

There’s one person, however, that Felix enjoys training with nearly more than anyone. No, he’s not a knight, and his skills aren’t exceptional, but he doesn’t mind the cuts and bruises and the typical infirmary visits afterward.

“I’m over here, Sylvain.”

Felix taps his boot against the packed dirt of the training grounds, his lips pursed as he straightens from a defensive stance.

“I swear to the goddess, Sylvain, if you stare at those girls a moment longer and I sheath my sword out of impatience for your lecherous ass, I’ll end your—”

“Nah, I’m ready.”

Felix quirks a thin, dark eyebrow and watches with interest as Sylvain flips a switch. He may be easily distracted, sure, but Sylvain’s umber eyes are on Felix now and Felix alone. They’ve known each other long enough for Felix to know that Sylvain is taking this seriously now, but it doesn’t mean he’ll keep his prepared string of insults to himself. “Not your type?” he sneers.

Sylvain shrugs. “Wasn’t really lookin’ at ‘em.”

“Oh, please,” Felix scoffs. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Now who’s holding up our training, huh? Thought you wanted to beat the shit out of me or something.”

A thrum of electricity pulses through Felix’s chest. His eyes narrow, and he breathes in deep before steadying his breath. To fight is to live, to become who he’s meant to be, and there’s something special about doing it with Sylvain. 

He brings his sword down hard against Sylvain’s lance, his primal shout betraying him more than the quick, silent movement of his feet. “You’re distracted,” he growls as their weapons tangle and Felix hops back, bouncing on his toes and immediately ready to strike again.

This time, Sylvain is more prepared with an effective parry that _almost_ catches Felix by surprise, but the two of them exchange mischievous grins nonetheless as they back away from each other again. At last, they settle into closer quarters amongst a rhythmic clashing of spear and sword, dodging and blocking and swinging with all their might until both have broken a generous sweat and are too focused on sweating and panting to trade devious glares and taunting remarks.

This is exactly what Felix likes. He sees Sylvain’s strong arms come down hard, watches corded muscle ripple throughout Sylvain’s forearms, and feels a shock of thrill pulse in his grasp that connects him even further to his sword until it becomes an extension of himself. He’s always hated fighting with wooden weapons, thinking the practice hardly a step up from fighting with sticks as a child, and he’s never minded even the deep gashes that have come with training hard and in earnest.

Dark scars against his pale skin only remind him of moments when he was weaker than he is now.

“You’re slipping, Sylvain.” Felix’s words may sound easy coming out of his mouth, but his lungs burn with every inhale and he’s actively shaking his head to remove a stray strand of hair from his face that keeps slapping sweat into his eye.

“Maybe I’m just,” Sylvain pants, “luring you into a false sense of security.”

Felix actually bounces back on his heels a few paces away and hunches over. It’s rare that he laughs out loud, but Sylvain is the only other one at the training grounds, and he’s seen Felix’s shoulders shake with amusement more than once. His bangs, messy and stringy with sweat, fall down over his face like a veil as he dips it toward the ground; Felix sees just a sliver of Sylvain’s leather boot, and that’s when his plan goes into action.

He moves quickly, swiping at Sylvain’s ankle with the toe of his own boot to throw Sylvain’s balance. From there, it’s easy. Grabbing at the lance’s pole and twisting gives Felix the perfect amount of leverage.

Sylvain is on the ground, his weapon just out of arm’s reach, and Felix descends on him like a mountain cat onto its quivering prey. The knife snuggled firmly between his boot and thigh erupts from its hiding place, and Felix feels nothing but heat when he spreads himself firmly across Sylvain’s body. His thighs nestle against Sylvain’s hips and push, his elbows straddle Sylvain’s shoulders, and a forearm pushes against his spar mate’s collarbones.

It’s all instinct, until Felix’s attention is brough to the weight of his own hips coming down against—

“Sylvain.”

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck is that.” It’s a statement. Felix doesn’t ask, because he knows _exactly_ what it is.

“What’s what?”

“Goddess.” Felix’s punishment comes swiftly with a sharpened knife blade pushed just beneath the crest of Sylvain’s throat. “ _This._ ” Felix grinds himself shamelessly down against the growing bulge in Sylvain’s pants, only to find it twitching against his inner thigh with a mind of its own. If not for Felix’s incredible self-control, he would have recoiled. Instead, he feels his eyebrows raise further onto his forehead and his eyes widen while his breath hitches.

As an experiment, he slides the jagged edge of the hunting knife horizontally against Sylvain’s throat, thinking he can even hear the catch of the steel against stubble that’s gone just too long without being shaved.

The nefarious lump at the front of Sylvain’s pants.

_Just as I thought._

Sylvain struggles beneath him, his body twisting in an effort to roll to his side and free his discovered erection from Felix’s hold.

Felix only pushes the blade harder into Sylvain’s throat, just the right amount of pressure at the pointed tip to draw a single drop of blood. “Stay,” Felix answers, tensing his thighs against Sylvain’s hips to keep him steady and using his lithe strength to keep his sparring partner in check. “I thought you said you weren’t looking at those girls. This has been distracting you the entire time?” He knows better, but he knows he’ll get more information if he plays dumb.

“I _told_ you,” Sylvain insists. “I wasn’t thinking about them.”

“Then what?” Not caring who else might encroach on their battle, Felix grinds down against Sylvain again. This time, he tries to make it painful. Judging by the wince that twists Sylvain’s lips, Felix succeeds.

“I don’t wanna talk about it like this.” 

“Oh?”

Sylvain’s face and neck are flushed, hot, embarrassed. The thick drop of crimson beads just large enough to form a quivering trickle down his neck, but Felix doesn’t move the knife.

“I surrender,” Sylvain says. He lifts his hands weakly by his sides, palms up and weaponless. “Get off me. You win.”

Felix rolls his eyes. He doesn’t particularly _want_ to move, but he respects the rules of a friendly spar. Never has he kept an opponent pinned beneath him beyond their surrender, and he won’t begin now no matter how much he enjoys taunting Sylvain like this and watching the flush rise bright and red on his ears, just beside damp ginger curls. He lifts himself from his haunches and relieves Sylvain of his weight, then stands over him and carelessly wipes the blood from his blade against his thigh. Fabric can easily washed, but wear and tear on a blade like this? Much more difficult to recover.

He watches while Sylvain props himself up on his elbows, hurriedly peeking down to his crotch and scrambling to his feet the moment he seems to have noticed the prominence of his own erection.

“Pathetic,” Felix murmurs. “Horny enough to fall for such a simple distraction.”

“I-I wasn’t—”

Felix turns his back on Sylvain and sighs. It’s disappointing, really. “If you told me the truth,” he says quietly, his words full of meaning, “maybe we’d get somewhere.” Intentionally, Felix makes a show of bending at the waist to secure the cleaned dagger back within his boot, showing off the curve of his ass to Sylvain and arching his back a bit for good measure when he slowly straightens.

As his adrenaline settles, Felix recognizes for the first time just how difficult a fight Sylvain put up. He wipes the back of his hand against his forehead and draws in a deep breath, his body struggling to function and a heaviness descending upon him that he knows will lighten with in a few moments, once the remnants of the fight’s thrill hit him again and propel him to the bath.

“Come to my room.”

Felix curls his lip. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain says.

An eyeroll isn’t enough to deter Sylvain. It never is.

“Whatever. Mine, though.” The response is the closest Felix will let himself come to an agreement, but he knows that Sylvain understands. Felix’s room keeps him on his own terms. Briefly, he thinks about offering a hand to help Sylvain to his feet, but another glance at the tent in Sylvain’s pants curls the corners of Felix’s lips and erases any ounce of pity he might have had beforehand. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

~

It’s just past sunset when Felix hears Sylvain’s quick, telltale raps on his door. Only Sylvain could come with such a confident racket this late in the evening. Wordlessly, Felix sets his book aside and opens the door for Sylvain to enter, then closes it behind him. “What?” he asks, arms crossed and foot tapping its impatience. “You do know we have an exam in the morning?”

“Show me that knife again.”

Felix narrows his gaze. “That’s all you’ve been wanting? If you only wanted to look at my knife, I could have showed you back at the training grounds.” Of course, Felix knows well by now that Sylvain’s need runs deeper than this, but this game of cat and mouse is much too amusing for him to get straight to the point.

It’s more satisfying to watch Sylvain fluster and make him beg out loud for whatever it is that he wants.

“I—”

Rolling his eyes, Felix reminds Sylvain that they have an exam tomorrow, not to waste his time, then reaches beneath his pillow to procure the blade in question. He slaps it into Sylvain’s open palm, then waits, watching as Sylvain turns the steel between his fingers and wipes reverently along the sharp edge with his index finger.

“U-use it on me again.”

The only thing Felix can do is purse his lips, and he struggles unsuccessfully to keep them from curling into a pointed grin. He grabs the knife back from Sylvain and pokes its tip just beneath Sylvain’s chin. “Is _this_ what tented your pants this afternoon?”

Sylvain draws in a sharp breath, then smiles sheepishly. “I told you I wasn’t paying any attention to those girls.”

It’s as close a confession as Felix will get, he thinks. “Strip and lie on my bed.” Expertly, he flicks the blade away and points instead to his mattress. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

It’s almost precious how quick Sylvain is to obey. Felix thinks he could get used to this. Sex is still something fairly new to him—he’s slept with no one but Sylvain and even that took some doing, but he’s grown more confident in recent months. Caught up in the thril of the game, he has no issue shucking off his own trousers, but his thin, loose-fitting night shirt stays on. Felix tossed his binder away an hour or so ago, and he’s well aware of how his perky breasts and erect nipples must look through the fabric. 

Once Sylvain is situated on his back, Felix moves forward before he has any further time to second guess what it is that he’s doing. 

Instead of lunging again at Sylvain’s neck, he takes a different approach, straddling Sylvain’s face and bending down over his quickly hardening cock to give Sylvain a look at his cunt, spread out above him. Knife still in hand, Felix props himself up on one elbow and absentmindedly draws the blade’s sharp edge lightly across the jut of Sylvain’s hip bones. He traces their initials together across Sylvain’s inner thigh, wonders if he can guess what it is that Felix is doodling, then circles the patch of pubic hair that protects the base of Sylvain’s quickly rising cock.

Sylvain’s body tenses instantly beneath him, and his growing erection twitches. “Damning,” Felix whispers against its base before planting a little kiss on the shaft and pushing the knife with sudden force against the top of Sylvain’s thigh. It’s not quite enough to draw blood, but Felix hears Sylvain’s sharp inhale, feels the way the air rushes just against his folds and cools his own mounting moisture. It seems as good a time as any to lower himself onto Sylvain’s face and demand pleasure of his own, and he does so at the same time that he languidly draws the flat of his tongue along Sylvain’s shaft at the same time that the knife’s flat edge brings raises gooseflesh on Sylvain’s leg.

“Lick, puppy, or I quit this game and throw you out into the hall.”

Like a good boy, Sylvain does just as he’s been asked. _Thank the goddess._ His tongue, warm and soft and trembling, pushes confidently into Felix’s slit and forges its way to his clit. 

Felix rewards Sylvain with another press of the knife against his groin, shaving a couple of stray hairs and flicking them away in the process. When Sylvain whimpers into his cunt, Felix breathes out a little moan—the loudest type of noise he typically makes during sex. “You really like this, Sylvain?”

The twitching of Sylvain’s erection in Felix’s grasp is the only answer he really needs, and so Felix carries on. 

He traces more absentminded doodles against Sylvain’s sensitive skin, intentionally pricking every now and then only to lick the blood away with a quick, tantalizing flick of his tongue. Felix’s own thighs are trembling on either side of Sylvain’s head now, and he lowers his full weight onto Sylvain’s face in an attempt to tonguefuck himself at the same time that he finally lowers his mouth entirely around the cockhead in front of him.

Sylvain’s arousal tastes as rich and musky as it smells, and Felix convinces himself that this is an excellent exercise in multi-tasking coordination. Will it ever benefit him on the battlefield to be able to suck dick and threaten his opponent’s masculinity with a hunting knife at the same time?

Perhaps not, but Felix had never exactly planned to lead a boring life.

They settle against one another’s bodies in a way that comes almost naturally to them by now, though the stakes are high thanks to the knife in Felix’s expert grasp.

Sylvain moans deep and low, rumbling against Felix’s cunt whenever the knife tickles him just right, and it has Felix rutting down hard and fast against Sylvain’s outstretched tongue. There’s very little rhythm, hardly any thought, only instinct and adrenaline—two notions that Felix holds great reverence for.

It pleases him, as he lowers himself so fully onto Sylvain’s erection that his throat spasms around the tip, to know that he can now ask Sylvain to be his sparring partner in more ways than one.

They quiver and shake and release within and around one another, the knife ever present even when Felix is so lost in the throes of his mounting orgasm that he uses every ounce of his training to retain focus on the pressures and angles of the way that he uses his blade, as if he’s butchering prey fast and hard with a war raging around him—

It’s ecstasy when his entire core throbs rhythmically on the insistent muscle that is Sylvain’s tongue.

Felix’s reward for such a powerful climax is one more shallow nick hardly an inch from the base of Sylvain’s cock, and he easily catches Sylvain’s spunk in his mouth a few moments later. The entire interaction is something surreal and distant, like Felix might have dreamed it, but the sour aftertaste of cum in the back of his throat is something unique to his waking hours.

With one last grind down against Sylvain’s mouth, Felix rises, relieves Sylvain of his duty, and twists around to fall beside him onto the cramped mattress. Knife still in hand, Felix takes a final risk and makes pointed eye contact with Sylvain’s half-lidded gaze before licking the the blade clean with the fluttering tip of his tongue. Then, he shoves Sylvain away to tuck the weapon carefully beneath his pillow again and nestle warmly into Sylvain’s side.

“You’ll fail your test tomorrow,” Felix sighs.

Sylvain’s choked sigh might have been a laugh. “And I’ve never cared less.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As a very new member of this fandom, I've fallen hard and fast for Sylvix, so I'd love to know what you think! A comment or even a kudos would mean the world. Come chat with me about these great boys on Twitter where I hang out @raptor_redeem


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